I used to...

I used to be able  to close my eyes and drift off to another world. I would float around and sing melodies that had never been written before. I would sing them in rhythms long forgotten. I would move to them in ways no one had ever moved. I could fly in this world. Meet people and see places I had never met or seen before. I never dreamed in that world; for dreaming doesn't make sense when you're at the very edge of existence itself. Where simply willing something brings it to life. Where little plastic men march around and sing hebrew songs. The sun sets behind another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

I would feel everything that everything that ever was, is and will be felt. I was everything and I was nothing and though I look back at that time today and recall very little, I know this: I do not go there now because in reality, I never did. Because there was nowhere to go. I was always there. And I am here today, just as you are. The world spins around itself and around the sun and around the merry-go-round that is the universe. Cars pass me by slow motion; Disassemble. Reassemble. And go back to standard time. My viens still pulse to the music as I float through the air and out my window and I am still the tree outside my window and I still do feel the wind blowing through my leaves. I am Nothing and still very much am, Everything.

And so are you! We are the same, you and I. No! We are all there is. And all there is, is us. These physical divisions are just links in the chain that is all and is yet insignificant for it is nothing without itself and it's very existence is questionable.

Look up! Can you see it? Through whatever blocks your view, can you see it? Can you see the Sun? As it sets into another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

Stories

I've always loved stories. Hearing and telling them. Asking my dad for just one more story till he fell asleep narrating extended my bedtime by an hour on so many nights when I was young. As I grew older, I had my own stories. Most were based very very losely on reality, some were complete imagination. Time passed and I heard so many more stories. I had my own completely true stories too, to accompany the ones with a dash of imagination or maybe reality. I realised that I wanted to tell my stories. That I wanted to share them with the world. I wanted to swap stories because I had realised that stories are important. They enrich our lives and give them depth. They are the greatest way in which we may live on because when we hear a story from a good Story Teller, we feel exactly as he/she feels. We laugh and weep and wonder just as they do. Because they are the imbodiment of the soul of the story. The story is theirs. Not because they lived it, but because they felt it truly.

A friend of mine once called me a wordsmith. I found it fitting and carried it around till today.

See I met this girl a few months ago. Isha*. And today, as I spoke to her I realised that the title fit her better. For she is a true wordsmith. As for me? Well I realised I'm something else. (Well I aspire for it anyway)

I am a Story Teller.

I have no great skills. I have no polished craft. But I have stories. And when it comes to stories, I have seen more than I can remember, and I remember more than I have seen. (G.B.Shaw ladies and gentlemen) I dont even know which stories are mine anymore. But I love telling them. Whether it's through songs or comedy or films or plays or just over lunch, I love telling them. I realise that the great joy for me was not creation and performance. It was the framing and telling of stories that would connect to people. All these stories in my head are a part of me. And if you've heard and felt any of them, they're a part of you too.

Yes. I am a Story Teller. Sounds right, nai?

*Isha Maniar is a talented writer currently studying law. Her blog Chai Paani Etc. fills me with joy and wonder every time I read it.
http://ishamaniar.blogspot.in

Damn tablet wont let me hyperlink. :-/

Dum Laga Ke Haiyya! :D

Saw this outside college the other day. The guys were taking a break when I asked them to throw a few more! :)

A Competition Entry...

I wrote the following for a competition. We were given a scene (A room filled with stuff)and were to write a story by interpreting what we saw.
I wish I hap pictures of what was there, but I don't. Apologies if some things feel a little out of context.

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Journal Entry,21st November, 2009.

I've been six days since I've slept. About ten since I've eaten. I've been living off the alcohol since the tofu ran out. The abandoned college building is better than the apartment. I like the cold here. Makes me feel human. There's something about the cold night air filling up your lungs that reminds you that you're no better than every other sad excuse of a living being around you. I sometimes sit and wonder why the others can't see it. Why no one else sees it. Because I keep going out and stealing the news paper every day, and they still aren't over me. They started out with stories on how I went missing. How I might have been 'kidnapped' for the ransom. How I might have just run away from it all. They say the money got to me. But it didn't! I swear to God it didn't! It was her. It was all her. Yes, it was always her...

It still is you know! Yes, yes! It is her! She's the only reason I'm still here. Alive and breathing. I see her every day you know. The building looks over her. I see her every day. No one knew about us. No one. They weren't allowed to know. I couldn't tell Them. But I did! Why? WHY DAMNIT! No. No. It wasn't my fault. It couldn't have been my fault! It was Their Fault. They couldn't see us together. They didn't like that I was happy.

Mother liked me happy though... She let me paint whenever I wanted. And she even let me keep the money I made when I sold the paintings. I miss Mother. But They told me to say Good Bye. So I did. I cut her and beat her and I said Good Bye to her. It wasn't my fault! I swear to Got it wasn't my fault! THEY TOLD ME TO SAY GOOD BYE! I can't not obey them! I can't...

But I can paint. And... And people liked it when I painted. They clapped and smiled when they say my paintings. Inbred Swine. Those people never saw through me. Never say through the paint. Never saw my soul. But she did. She saw through it all and she cried. She wept when she saw my soul. She understood me. And we were together. And I Loved her. Ans she loved me too. But no one knew. No one could know. But They found out! I told Them, And when I went to see her next they told me to say Good Bye. I told them that I couldn't. No I couldn't! It wasn't fair! You aren't fair! Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT! But They wouldn't leave me alone. So I had to do it.

I like yellow. It... It feels good. I have yellow hands right now. I dipped them in paint yesterday. I like orange too. Orange was her favorite colour...

And I miss her... I knew I'd miss her... But I couldn't help it. I had to do what I did. She screamed when I took her by the neck into the bathroom. Her voice was so clear. So beautiful. But no one heard us. No one. I made sure of it. And when I forced her into the tub full of yellow her hands looked so much like mine. The paintbrush made red in the tub too. She was found three days later in a tub of blood and paint. All I saw was Orange. She seemed happy. Yes, she was happy. No she wasn't! She couldn't have been happy! What did I do? What have I don? Oh God! Forgive me! They made me do it! You know They did! I tried to say no! I did! I swear!

But you understand.... Yes. God understands me! He knows I'm innocent. That's why no one ever found out that it was me. Yes... He protected me...

I couldn't stay there anymore though. Not at home... No. Too many people. Far too many. And the noise. Oh the noise. It killed me! So I came here. It was closer to her. It still is. I see her every day. And when no one's looking, I give her flowers. Orange carnations, whenever I can.

I've done a lot in my six months here you know... I painted another painting. It's smaller than what I usually do. But it had to be done. It's all I have left. People sold all my paintings after I was declared dead by the police. And they took away my house. And they started saying all kinds of things about what kind of a person I was. BUT THEY DON'T KNOW ME! NONE OF THEM KNOW ME! Only she knew me... But I said Good Bye to her... They made me say Good Bye to her. Why? Why? I miss her! I miss you so much! Why did They make you go away? Why?

I even tried telling them how I felt... took all the pictures of me in the papers and painted tears on them. I crumpled them up so my tars faced inside. My inside. So They could see. But They ignored me. They keep ignoring me...

No! I can't do it anymore! I can't take Them anymore! They keep talking! They keep talking! Why won't They just stop talking?

I know... I know what I'll do now. I'll say Good Bye to Them! I've done Their bidding all my life! I can't! No! I WON'T take it anymore! Shut up! Shut up! You will not dictate my life to me anymore. None of you! I'm not afraid! I'm not afraid of You All anymore! I'll end it today. And rest near her. I have an old blade somewhere. I'll find it soon enough. And I'll cut myself open one last time. And I'll do it so it stays that way. I'll leave some blood for the room. Something to leave Them behind in. I have some yellow paint left as well. I'll go paint her grave her favourite colour this one last time.

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